Love When You Least Expect It
by acaelousqueadcentrum
Summary: Part of Heart to Heart. It's weird, but Nick's the first to know.


"Jon, can I get a Jack and Coke," Nick said as he stepped up the bar. Confident that the bartender had heard his order, he turned to look at the woman next to him. "Hey, good looking," he teased her, "what's a guy gotta do to get your number?"

Gail looked him up and down, and then rolled her eyes. "Sorry, soldier, you had your chance. And I'm taken" she said and went back to drumming her fingers on the wood of the bar, the glint of her wedding ring sparkling under the bar lights overhead.

She looked exhausted, Nick realized. Exhausted and something else. There was something going on with her, and he was a little concerned. Partly because she'd seemed just a little off the last few times he rode with her, and in their line of work "a little off" could lead to big mistakes and big consequences. But mostly, he was worried because ex-or not, married or not, she was still his friend.

At least, he considered her a friend. And because she'd been mostly friendly to him lately—as close as Gail ever got to "friendly" with people who weren't her wife, that is—he was hoping she thought the same of him.

"Gail," he asked softly, just enough so she could hear him, "is everything okay?"

He expected her to look up at him with that patented Peck glare, but instead she looked like she was trying not to be sick all over the order of onion rings and fried pickles in front of her. He'd seen that look more than once in the past few weeks, including the morning she made him pull over so she could be sick on the side of the road. At the time he figured she was just coming down with something, or had had a really good night out with her wife. And she'd looked so miserable when she got back in the squad he hadn't had the heart to give her the littering speech.

But thinking back, there'd been a couple of incidents—including the one with Epstein's boots—that stuck out in his memory.

Something was definitely up with her.

Nick picked up the drink the bartender had just put down, taking a swig as Gail opened her mouth to speak.

"Nick, wait—"

One taste and he knew something wasn't right. Jon had given him straight soda.

"Jon, hey, I think you forgot something in my drink," he called across the bar to the large man pulling a pint.

"That's my drink, you idiot," Gail said in a fierce whisper.

Nick waved Jon over. "Well, you can thank me later. He forgot the whiskey," he fake-whispered back to her.

"No, he didn't," Gail answered, "I only ordered a coke. Now put your hand down."

But that didn't make sense either. Gail didn't drink soda unless there was liquor in it. It was like making a PB&J without the peanut butter, she'd told him half a lifetime ago, some silly night they were playing house in his crappy one-room apartment. He'd asked her if that counted for the liquor part too, and she'd smiled coyly at him, taken another swig straight from the bottle of discount brandy he'd bought, and crooked her finger at him, all come hither-like. Much later, she'd answered the question. That was different, she'd told him, because it just was. And he'd believed her.

"Everything okay over here," Jon said, putting Nick's drink down on the bar top.

"Yes, Nicholas here was just being his usual charming self," Gail said, and pushed away the rest of her food. "And can you take this away, it smells rank."

"Okay, Gail, what's up," Nick asked after Jon had stepped back, "you're all weird lately."

"Well you're weird all the time, Nicholas, but you don't see me interrogating you about it," she scowled.

There's an idea coming together in the back of his head, and as impossible, as absurd as it is to be considering, pieces are clicking into place. He shook his head once, then twice. The more he thought about it, the more he looked at her, the more possible it seemed.

"Gail," he said softly, "why aren't you drinking?"

She closed her eyes, gave herself a moment to settle before reopening them. "I'm driving, Collins. As an officer of the law you should be commending me on my stellar adherence to vehicle safety."

"And I do, but you have the alcohol tolerance of a Russian tank, Gail. And driving has never stopped you from enjoying at least one drink before. Plus, two minutes ago you were about ready to ralph in your food…" He let his voice trail off, waiting for her to jump on his words.

But she didn't; instead, it looked like she was rolling a thought around in her head, trying to decide whether to bring whatever was on her mind out into the open.

"Too much fried food upsets my stomach, Nick. I'm surprised you don't remember that from one of the times we dated."

He couldn't help it, he rolled his eyes.

"Gail, once when we were dating I saw you eat a giant burger with a fried egg and fried onions on it, plus your French fries and most of mine. I've seen you eat multiple orders of those fried pickles before. Last winter Dov bet you the New Year's Eve shift you got stuck with that you wouldn't eat a Scotch egg." Nick paused to chuckle at the memory before continuing, "You ate three. The only thing fried food bothers is the people who watch you eat it."

She turns a little green at the memory of the Scotch eggs.

"So," he asked again, "what's up with you lately? Because—"

But he doesn't get the chance to finish his question, because she jumps off her stool and rushes to the restroom just next to the karaoke machine in the corner.

She's in there a good fifteen minutes before she finally comes out. In the meantime Nick had settled both their tabs and collected her coat, and moved to stand just outside the Ladies' room.

"You want me to call Holly," he asked.

"Out of town," Gail responded in a tone that bordered on pitiful, "some sciencey thing."

Nick helped her into her jacket. "Ahhh," he said, "some sciencey thing. Got it. Can I take you home then?"

"As long as you promise no funny business," the blonde said with only a hint of her usual smarm.

Nick laughed. "Peck, you smell like vomit and pickles. Also, your wife scares me. You got nothing to worry about from me."

She was quiet on the drive back to her house, the charming two-story home she shared with Holly. He turned the radio to some station playing classic rock, and let her sit and look out the window at the bright lights of the Toronto skyline while Steve Miller sang about the gangsters of love.

She told him he didn't have to walk her in, but Nick ignored her and followed her up the walk. It was the fact that she didn't toss back any scathing remarks that had him deciding to follow her in. At least to make sure that she wasn't going to pass out in the mudroom.

Gail kicked her boots off in the entry way and threw her coat on the floor before heading up the back stairs to the bedrooms.

"I'll just wait here then," Nick called after her, pleased to hear her grunt her displeasure and throw back a "Don't touch anything, Nicholas" from the top of the stairs.

Nick sighed and picked up her jacket and boots, putting them away in the closet where he knew they were supposed to go before heading to the kitchen to start some water boiling for tea.

It was a nice house; two floors, a couple of bedrooms, an office for the Doc. He'd been swindled into helping them move in, and had been there a few times since, whenever Holly decided to ignore Gail's more anti-social tendencies and host some event. The last time had been for Gail's birthday. Holly had arranged and thrown a surprise party. And Gail, after her colleagues had stopped ribbing her for not figuring out what her wife was planning, had eventually loosened up and had a great time. The last time he saw her that night, before heading home to get some sleep before his early shift the next morning, she'd been singing karaoke on the machine in the corner of the living room, eyes only for the brunette with the matching rings who was swaying along to the song.

It was everything he never thought Gail wanted.

But she was thriving. And she was happy.

And if the small black and white picture pinned to the door of the fridge was anything to go by, she and Holly were starting a whole new chapter to their story.

So he was right. She was pregnant.

Honestly, Nick was a little surprised. When he and Gail had been together she'd shown no interest in having kids or being a mom. He remembered bringing it up once or twice, flush with love for her and the idea of building a family with someone, of having a family again. But she'd made a face, and he got the impression that babies and kids weren't in her plans.

It took him a long time to understand what was behind her reticence to even think about that kind of future, that the wounds from her childhood were still too fresh and too deep, that her worst fear was that she'd become like her own mother, and break down her children like Elaine had broken down her.

It had taken him even longer to realize that he wasn't going to be the one to help her move beyond that fear, to help her fill in all the empty places her mother had left.

Turns out, Nick thought as he traced an index finger along the fuzzy image of the sonogram, the person she'd needed, the person she'd always been waiting for had been a smart, funny, sexy doctor with a crooked grin and kind eyes. Turns out all she'd ever needed was Holly.

And he was happy for her. He really, really was.

"Hey, Collins," Gail yelled as she tromped down the stairs into the kitchen, dressed in a pair of too-long flannel pants and a baseball jersey that he was pretty sure had "Stewart" written across the back. "I thought I told you not to—oh."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to. I was just heating up some water to make you some tea and I saw it there on the fridge." It's strange, he can't quite decipher the look on her face. Once upon a time he'd thought he knew every expression, every combination of her features. But right now he didn't know if she was angry, or happy, or scared, or about to vomit again. Can't tell if she'll hit him or yell at him, and both were definite possibilities.

But Gail didn't do either.

Instead, when the kettle whistled she took down two mug, and reached into a tin on the countertop for two tea sachets.

"So," she said as she turned and handed him a mug, "I guess the cat's out of the bag."

"More like the kitten," Nick grinned and took a sip of his tea—chamomile. He'd made it for her one time while they were dating, when she was sick. She'd called it weed tea and spit it back into the cup. Holly, he thought, not for the first time, was some kind of miracle worker. A Gail-whisperer.

"It's lame to laugh at your own jokes, Nicholas," Gail said, throwing a dish-towel at him.

She walked into the living room and settled onto the big, plush couch there. He followed, and took a seat on the matching recliner on the other side of the room.

For a minute they just sat there in silence, drinking their tea. And it occurred to Nick that long ago, he'd imagined nights very much like this. Her and him, sitting in the living room of their happy home, in love with each other and a baby that was on the way. But in his remembered dreams she'd never looked as happy as she did now, her excitement visible just under the surface of her perpetual annoyance.

"I guess congratulations are in order," he said with a soft smile, hoping she'd understand how truly happy he was for her.

She looked down at her belly shyly, and for a moment Nick felt like he was intruding on a moment that he never should have seen, something private and personal and beautiful.

"Thanks," she replied, "we haven't really told anyone yet."

"Well, no one will hear about it from me, Gail," he said and took another sip of tea. "How far along are you?"

"Um, eleven weeks," Gail answered. "Twelve weeks next Friday. The sonogram's from a couple of weeks ago. Holly wants to wait until the second trimester before we let people know. I told her we just shouldn't say anything at all and take bets on whether the first person to ask why I'm so fat is Dov or my mother."

Nick choked a little on his tea. "I'd put my money on Dov, but only because the limit to what you'd do to avoid running into Elaine has not yet been found."

"Insider knowledge, Nicholas," Gail smirked around her mug, "it'll get you ahead every time."

He watched as she scowled down into her mug and then put it aside.

"Yeah," she said, "Holly's not here, I'm not finishing that."

"I was wondering when you developed a taste for chamomile, Gail," Nick joked, "you never liked it before."

She scooted back into the couch and brought her knees up into her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs almost like an embrace. It made her look younger, vulnerable, even.

"I can't drink alcohol and I needed my cup of coffee earlier to put up with Officer Unicorn-Farts when we were on patrol—"

That's right, Nick recalled, she'd been partnered with Chloe for the day.

"—but I can drink as much herbal tea as I want. Which isn't even that bad, normally, but we're out of everything but chamomile and peppermint." Her voice got higher and faster as she rambled, and for a second, he thought she might cry.

"Holly forgot to pick up the kind I like before she left," Gail continued, voice a little softer now.

It was the waver when she said her wife's name that clued him in.

"This is the first time since you got pregnant that she's been away, isn't it," he asked.

She nodded and hugged her legs tighter.

"It's stupid, I know it's stupid. But every night she makes me tea and then we sit in bed and we talk, or I fall asleep while she watches _The Daily Show_, or while she's reading. And I know that she's only gone for one more night, but I just … I miss her, Nick. And I hate the way I feel because I feel so weird, all the time. Like I'm not in control of anything, and, I don't know, she makes it better. Even before the baby, she just always knew how to make everything better. And now that I'm pregnant everything is … more. I'm more tired and I'm more cranky and yesterday morning I cried in the shower because we were out of her shampoo. And then after work when Dov came up behind Chloe in the parking lot and covered her eyes with his hands and asked 'Guess who,' do you know what I did, Nicholas? I thought 'awwww' and I didn't want to throw anything at them. I thought it was cute. It's like I'm not even me anymore."

She looked absolutely horrified at those last few admissions, and he had to struggle to keep his mouth from turning up into a smile.

"You know," he said as she absent-mindedly took another sip of tea, "I always wondered what you would be like pregnant. I mean, when we were dating you were pretty serious about never wanting to have kids, so I'm still a little surprised to find out that you're expecting. And that it's you and not Holly who's pregnant. With that whole marrying a woman thing, I thought you would have taken full advantage of the ability to skip out on pregnancy and labor."

Gail quirked her head and looked at him with an odd expression in her eyes, like she's evaluating whether or not to say what's on the tip of her mind. Or maybe how to say it.

"I thought I was pregnant once when we were dating," she said bluntly.

It hit him like a brick, and if he weren't already sitting down he knows he would have staggered back a few steps under the weight of this revelation.

"What," he said, not quite a question, not entirely a demand.

"Or maybe I was," she said with a shake of her head, "I don't know. It was a couple of months before Vegas. My period was two months late and I was panicking about what to do and whether to say anything. And then one day it came, heavier than usual, and I forced myself not to think about it again. And I really didn't, not until Holly brought up having kids. I mentioned it to our OB at one of our first appointments. She said I could have been pregnant and then had a very early miscarriage, or something could have thrown my cycle out of whack for a couple of months."

If she looked lighter for sharing this long-held secret, Nick thought, it's because the weight of it is now on his shoulders. Maybe he might have been a father. Maybe for a few short weeks he might have had a family. For a minute, he can't speak. His mind is blank of everything but memories of them together in the last months of their relationship.

"Why didn't you say anything to me, ever? You think that might have come up at some point," he said when he could think again.

"At the time I was too scared of what you'd do—not like that, Nick," she clarified when she saw the look on his face, "but that you'd do something stupid like want to get married and have it."

"Would that have been so bad," he asked, mind still reeling with images of a possible future that had never been.

She looked at him, maybe a hint of sadness in her eyes. "Come on, Nick. We were kids ourselves. We may not have known what we wanted to do with our lives back then, or what we wanted from each other, but neither of us wanted that. And if I'd been pregnant, and if I'd told you, and if we'd done the stupid thing and gone and started a family way back then, we'd be miserable with each other by now. And our kid would be miserable."

Just because he knew she was right didn't make the sucker punch of knowing any easier to take.

But he can be okay about this, he will be okay about this.

"I'm sorry you were scared, and I'm sorry that you were scared alone," he said, hoping she could hear the sincerity behind the words.

"Look, Nick," she said, "I should have said something back then. I know I should have. But I was so scared that I couldn't do anything. And then it wasn't an issue anymore and so I didn't need to say or do anything. It was easier to forget about and move on, you know?"

And the thing is, he does know. Maybe he wouldn't have back then, before Afghanistan, before Perik, before Ford, before everything went so wrong so many times for them. But now he understands exactly what she means. And he can't really be upset with her for it. Can't be upset with her for not telling him back then, can't be upset with her for deciding to tell him now, tonight.

Honestly, she was right. Telling him back then, it would have screwed so many things up. And neither of them would be where they are right now, sitting in her living room as the streetlights come on outside.

"And now," he asked, curious, "are you scared now too?"

There was the smile again, so happy, just a little bit shy. She always had this softer, vulnerable side buried within herself. He's glad Holly seems to bring it out into the open.

"Yeah," she answered, "of course I am. But it's a different kind of scared. It doesn't make me feel trapped, or paralyzed. It doesn't burn away in my stomach. It's more, it's warm. Because, you know, I'm going to be a parent, who the fuck knew, right? But I—Holly and I, we can do this. And I'm scared and she's scared but at the same time, I just can't wait. I can't wait for the kid to be born, to see Holly hold our baby for the first time. I can't wait to be a mom, Nick."

Maybe then it finally hits him, maybe it finally makes sense after all these years.

Gail wasn't someone who got away, someone he let go of. Gail wasn't really ever his to begin with. They were never poised on the edge of some great love story, that maybe-someday image in his head was only ever that, an image.

No, she's always been Holly's, always been waiting for Holly to come along and love her like she wanted, like she deserved. Holly's the person who makes her want all the things she thought she was never good enough to have. Home and family and love.

And him? Who knows what the world's got in store for him, who knows who he's waiting for. He'll find out someday, he's certain. And in the meantime, he's a patient man. He can wait.

Nick got up off the couch and walked over to her, placed a kiss on her cheek.

"You're going to be a great mom," he said, picking up her empty mug before making his way back into the kitchen. "I mean," he said loudly from the other room, "your wife's a doctor, so you can't screw up too bad."

The water heating in the kettle blocked out most of her laugh, but he knows it's there.

"Alright, Peck," he said a few minutes later, hands full with two refilled mugs of tea, "what do you have on your DVR there. Mine's broken and I haven't been able to watch anything in weeks."

They watched until Gail nodded off onto his shoulder, and he shooed her off to bed.

The next morning, when Gail got in to the locker room, she found a plastic bag hanging off her locker, and inside, a variety box of herbal tea and a note—_Your wife says you like this kind, and that she's sorry she forgot. Congrats._


End file.
